


the water is rising/i'm too tired to swim

by badacts



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Green Lantern - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badacts/pseuds/badacts
Summary: When you're well-loved, getting hurt hurts other people too. Bruce knows this. Hal hasn't quite figured it out yet. Clark is just trying to catch up.
Relationships: Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 137





	the water is rising/i'm too tired to swim

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Drown' by Martin Garrix, which is a big mood for this fic.

There was nowhere else on Earth like Smallville. Or, for that matter, off of it.

Of course, little but the high holidays and complete disaster seemed to bring him back here these days. Sometimes he had to wonder whether regular adults felt the same as him, living so far from the places they’d grown up in. That aching wonder at being able to come home, with the overlapping whisper of a sense that that home couldn’t last forever.

Disaster made Clark Kent more introspective than Christmas, it turned out.

Bruce, who had stripped down to the suit baselayer with a pair of Clark’s sweatpants pulled over top, was leaning against the railing of the porch. He appeared to be watching the sunrise, though Clark suspected that was a front for him staring into the middle distance lost in thought. Clark would swear part of the reason the man kept the lenses in his cowl down during League meetings was to disguise the difference between his absent thinking expression and the force of his focus.

“How’s he doing?” Clark asked, voice kept low. Ma and Pa would be up soon anyway, but after the late night they’d caused it was the least he could do.

“Lantern is fine,” Bruce replied. His only tell was a tightening of his knuckles on the railing, there and then gone.

“And you?”

This earned him a look. “Any word from Diana?”

“She’ll be here by tonight with news. But we have our orders.”

“Orders.” Bruce’s expression was one of immense distaste. “We have a round table for a reason.”

“That’s what I’m usually telling you,” Clark replied, just as he normally would, and then winced. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” 

Now Bruce’s face had gone still, an indication either that he was angry or that he genuinely had no idea what Clark meant. Clark, used to treading that particular line on the side of caution - at least in this one respect - felt his eyes becoming inexorably attracted to his feet. Being back home turned him into an ashamed eight-year-old too easily.

“I should have been prepared,” he said. 

Because he should have been. He should have known. Of all the temptations and causes, there were few other things Hal Jordan would like to throw his life away for with that particular degree of abandon. This had been Clark’s problem, and he should have been able to solve it without ever involving either of these two men, with their particular idiosyncrasies.

Just - kids were a hotspot for both of them, even kids from far-flung planets being trafficked across a variety of civilisations that just so happened to include the human ones. Bruce had long accepted that it was more reasonable to live for children, not die for them, but Hal hadn’t got that memo yet.

“You can’t possibly imagine that I’m angry with you.”

“I,” Clark began, and then stopped. To be honest, he hadn’t really imagined that Bruce  _ wasn’t _ .

Bruce turned to look at him more fully, coolly assessing. The huff afterwards was indecipherable. 

“Bruce-”

The man had turned back to the horizon. He said, “Clark, have I ever struck you as the type to make excuses for Green Lantern?”

Clark stepped up and leaned against the railing next to him. “There was never any danger of anyone accusing you of favouritism, certainly. Well, not towards Hal.”

The huff this time was definitely shaded with amusement. “Lantern can take responsibility for his own mistakes, Kal. He doesn’t need you falling on your sword for him.” 

_ It wasn’t a mistake, _ Clark didn’t say, because he didn’t need to. But Bruce’s anger would translate as it liked to - Clark had known him for long enough to know that.

“Well, what’s a mission without the post-mission pervasive guilt,” Clark replied, an attempt at humour. Because it was Bruce, it didn’t fall flat. That was one thing about the man no one who didn’t know him would guess - humourless he may seem, but he was capable of poking fun at himself. Or maybe it was just because he knew Clark well. 

It was Hal’s bloody victorious smile that had done it, he thought. Or maybe it was Batman’s sudden anger, alien from beneath the cowl which usually presented only the cold judgement of old god. That fierce protective anger usually reserved for Robins, in a situation where there were no Robins to be found. Or that Clark hadn’t known that Green Lantern might be a focus of it, hadn’t known there was anything there to know.

It wasn’t that it didn’t make sense. It’s that he hadn’t considered it, not once. 

“You boys need to get to bed,” Ma said from the door. She was folded warmly into her dressing gown, the one Lois had got her for Christmas a few years back. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been up all night.” Her cool hand settled on Clark’s back, like it had from the time he got tall enough she didn’t have to hunch to do it.

“I’m always up all night,” Bruce replied, with a lilt of amusement at himself.

“Well, maybe in those cities that never sleep, that works. Out here, if you don’t sleep with the sun, you won’t get through a day on the farm,” Ma replied. Her other hand pressed to Bruce’s back, there and gone. “You look exhausted.”

“Well, if I need to help milk cows later,” Bruce conceded. It was entirely possible that he had no idea Ma and Pa didn’t keep dairy cows on the property, and hadn’t since their last gentle old house cow had gotten too old to calve. For a man with a seemingly encyclopedic knowledge on many topics, his practical knowledge of farming was limited to desultorily prodding at the inner workings of Pa’s old truck.

“Off you go,” Ma ushered, shooing them into the house like a woman her size shouldn’t have been able to. “I’ll wake you if the world is ending.”

“Not if I hear it first,” Clark said.

* * *

Bruce retreated to the guest room, feet soundless on the rugs along the hall floor. Martha was right enough, that he needed sleep. As irritating as it was to need it now in particular, he could concede that there was little place safer than Superman’s family home while Superman was in it.

Hal was curled on his side in the guest bed, though he twitched and roused at the sound of the door opening. “Mmff. Hey, baby.”

“Lantern, it’s me,” Bruce replied brusquely.

“Nothing wrong with my eyes,” Hal said. He moved under the duvet, and then hissed out his breath. “Unlike my ribs, fuck.”

“Give me a pillow.”

One incredulous brown eye focussed on him from amidst said pillows. He seemed to have placed them strategically, though Bruce wasn’t sure when. “Over my suppurating corpse.”

Of course. Bruce picked up his cape from the pile of his gear in the corner and spread it on the floor beside the bed. There was at least a thick rug, some kind of synthetic shag. 

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” Bruce replied. “You ought to do the same. You’ll be coherent enough for a strategic meeting later.”

“That’s a funny way to describe you and Clark arguing in the kitchen while Diana watches and laughs internally,” Hal said, “But it does explain a lot about your personal approach to injury recovery.”

“It’s just a concussion.”

“If you could tell yourself from six hours ago that, I’d appreciate it.”

Bruce wore that like the censure it was meant as. He knelt down on the rug, though it made his spine complain and his hip crack audibly. Another shade of embarrassment. At least this one was in front of the team member most likely to understand human fallibility. 

Hal heaved a gusty sigh. “Just get in.” 

“What?”

The single eye managed to convey challenge as well as the rest of the man tended to. A hand pushed the blankets back.

“It’s a double,” Bruce said. The Kents clearly didn’t have many guests visiting who measured over 5’8”.

“We can snuggle,” Hal replied.

“With those ribs?” Bruce asked, but conceded. The floor had never looked tempting, but it failed to even begin to measure up against a bed with Hal Jordan in it. 

“Unbelievable,” Hal muttered as Bruce slipped in beside him. The mattress was body-warm where he’d sprawled across it, and a touch too soft. It rolled them into the centre together, something Hal seemed eager to take advantage of. Wary of bruises, Bruce allowed himself to be nudged onto his back with Hal’s good side belly-down on him, head cupped into his shoulder.

Once settled, Hal let out a momentous sigh. “Nice.”

“I live to serve.”

“Well, that’s not true, but okay,” Hal said into his shirt. “You scared the fuck out of Clark.”

That’s not at all how Bruce remembered the situation, but it seemed cruel to contradict someone with a head injury. Also, Hal’s good arm seemed to be trying to wriggle between Bruce’s back and the mattress, and it was distracting.

“He thought you were going to produce kryptonite from some orifice and rip his stomach out his nose,” Hal continued. “You told him it wasn’t his fault, right?”

“Of course,” Bruce replied. “I told him it was yours.”

Hal huffed a laugh. “Actually, it’s yours, if anything.”

Bruce looked down at him. After a moment, Hal’s head rolled so their eyes met. There was amusement on his sleepy face. “You really shouldn’t’a started going out to fight gods and aliens in leather and kevlar. Or you shouldn’t have slept with me. One of those two things.”

“Guess which one I think it is.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve got regrets. Well, so do the rest of us, you’re not special. And, might I just add-”

“I’m not sure I could stop you.”

\- you still ended up in bed with me right now.”

Bruce sighed through his nose, looking to the ceiling. “There’s only one spare bed.”

“You could have shared with Clark. It wouldn’t be the first time, right?” The tone was distinctly lascivious. Hal shouldn’t have had the blood content for that quite yet, but it proved his healing capacity if nothing else. Bruce felt an expression of distaste cross over his face, but doubted Hal could see it from his position.

“This is purely for practical reasons,” he said, like there was anything in his life he’d done out of practicality. And like he didn’t have an arm around Hal’s shoulders, curling him close. 

“Sure, pull the other one,” Hal said, “It’s got an alternate reality where we somehow managed to only ever fuck once on it.”

“The regret gets stronger every time you open your mouth.”

“As if.” To prove his point, Hal gave him a lazy grope. “Did you share those regrets with your-”

“Shh,” Bruce interrupted. He removed Hal’s hand, though not with any particular degree of firmness. 

The truth of the matter was that Bruce was not in the habit of lying to himself - he was firmly of the belief that that particular habit, more than any other, got one killed. And perhaps the best he could expect was dying in a manner of his own choosing, but if he got to pick, being surprised by something he’d willfully ignored was not the way he would go.

He’d known since that night that it was never something that he’d do just the once. Case in point: Hal Jordan wouldn’t let it happen that easily. 

He’d also known that it was a problem. A personal problem. One that didn’t start or end in the bedroom. That had also proven true.

In the quiet, Hal had settled. His breath was warm on the skin over Bruce’s heart.

“You feel so good,” he mumbled. “How do you always feel so good?”

Bruce had been wondering the same thing. He just held back tighter.


End file.
